Pull the Trigger
by PhantomSoldat
Summary: Waking up on a particularly bad night, James struggles through his mental issues and through his inner turmoil. He remembers everything he has done and must make a decision that could change everything. Blood, death and gun shots haunt his mind, but how much more can he endure?


It was dark and gloomy in the room that he was currently sat in; light was streaming through cracks of newspaper that were plastered on the glass of the windows, causing various shapes and shadows to appear throughout the worn down room. The newspaper had been there for some time, now, and it was beginning to peel off - A sign that he had been living here, in that darkness, for a good couple of months. His breathing was the only sound that was audible in the small space that was occupied by very little belongings. A mattress was the main focus of the room, there being a couple of pieces of other furniture scattered around; a desk, a chest of drawers, and in the kitchen there was a fridge and the essential cupboards that came with the room itself. In all honesty, there wasn't much to fill the room. It wasn't at all aesthetically pleasing and if an outsider were to view it, they would not believe that somebody had been living there borderline long-term.

Inhaling a slow, deep breath through his nose, James then exhaled it at the same pace through his slightly parted lips. Eyes closed and brows somewhat furrowed in concentration and struggle, he tried to focus on his current surroundings - A technique that was called 'grounding' - A technique that should bring him back to the reality that he was currently in. His hands were balled into tight fists as he held onto his bed sheets; he was sitting on the mattress which was in the corner of the room. This was so he could view the rest of the room and so nothing could sneak up behind him whilst he slept. Often he sat in the corner, looking across the room at nothing, lost in thought and/or memories. It made him feel a little bit safer knowing that nothing would be able to grab or attack him from behind and that he could see everything surrounding him.

What could he smell? Nothing. It was a little musty but he tried not to open the windows out of paranoia that somebody would be listening, that somebody would be watching; after all, it wasn't as if he was a nobody, there would be many people searching for him. He was a fugitive, a criminal in their eyes. It was also why there was newspaper up against the windows, so that nobody could snipe him or even see him - Not easily, at least. After all, he was the best sniper that Hydra had to offer, and quite possibly better than anyone in shield... Minus Barton, of course.

His heart was pounding in his chest and he was sweating due to the heat that his body had built up through the panic he was experiencing. Head hung, he gripped at the sheets with enough strength to potentially tear through them. His legs were crossed and he had kicked the duvet so that it was away from him, so that there was no additional heat.

It was the early hours of the morning and he had been awoken by a violent nightmare that had left him very shaken up. A memory, something he would rather forget - Something he would willingly forget unlike everything else from before Hydra. As he took those deep breathes, his body flinched and jerked some, reacting to what he was experiencing.

A pained noise formed from the back of his throat as he grit his teeth, tears forming in his eyes.

 _"He needs more work."_

 _Sat in the operating chair - The chair that they always made him sit in when they worked on either his arm or his head - A group of them were looking over at him. On either side of him there were two men; one was tinkering around with his arm and the other was focusing on the machine that was set up beside him. James sat in silence, watching and observing, not speaking unless he was addressed or told to, just as he had been disciplined._

"No..."

 _Blood. There was so much blood. Stood before a lifeless body on the floor, he watched as the dark liquid pooled around the corpse that had previously been full of life and pure fear. The body's head was caved in, its limbs twisted in directions that visually showed that they were clearly broken. What did it look like? It looked like the man had jumped off of a building, had ended it all. James had lured him up there, had snuck up and gotten information from him before shoving him off and witnessing him fall to his end. It hadn't ever occurred to him that this was all wrong, that he was a murderer. He didn't know any different, after all, and was programmed to think that his work was a gift to mankind._

A soft whimper escaped his lips. Now, those tears that had previously formed in his eyes had fallen and were trickling down his cheeks.

Gunshots. The sound of the train going across the tracks and wind whirring on either side of him as he fell to his own so called 'death'. Only, he didn't die. He survived. His own blood left a trail as he was dragged through freezing snow. There was so much pain, so much pain...

 **"Stop..."**

 _The man's grip tightened, enough so that his knuckles turned white and so the veins in his wrist stuck out. His bionic hand made a quiet clicking sound as it moved. There was a woman, now, in her middle ages. Fifty or sixty, he'd say. It was dark but the street was illuminated by a street light a short distance away. There was enough light to see the fear in her eyes, to see her paralysed due to how scared and traumatised she was. She had just seen her loved one die before her eyes, and now it was her turn._

 _He squeezed. The woman made quiet, choked noises as the life slowly left her body. As he increased the pressure to her throat she was receiving less and less oxygen; her face was growing more and more red as the seconds ticked by due to it. He stared down into her eyes as he slowly murdered her and took her life, witnessing as her eyes grew foggier and glassier, watching as the life faded from them._

 _Another victim of the Winter Soldier, not that anybody would know anytime soon. They would all think of these two deaths as a car crash._

 _ **"Stop! Just fucking stop!"**_

As he gasped and tried to breath in-between the hysteria he was enduring, James grabbed his closest weapon - A hand pistol that he kept beside the mattress as a precaution. His vision was going in and out of focus as he attempted to make out what was reality and what was flashbacks. Memories and colours flashed before his eyes; crimson, so much crimson, and yelling in his ears - His own screams. Were they real? Or was he remembering them? Gun shots, screaming, fighting, the electricity that was coursing through his brain whilst being 'wiped'...

A choked sob left his lips and his throat burned. With his thumb he flicked the safety off and he held the barrel of the weapon beneath his jawline, angled up toward his brain. He wouldn't miss, he knew where to shoot and hit, he knew where would kill a person. One shot and it would be over - One shot and all of this pain, all of this confusion and desperation to be OKAY and NORMAL would be over. He felt so lost, he felt so fucking lost and he didn't know what to do. Everyday was a war for him, a war against his own mind, something he couldn't escape unless...

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes.

His hand was shaking as he kept the weapon aimed up at his brain, the barrel firm against his skin. All he had to do was pull the trigger and it would be over in an instant. No more flash backs, no more hiding from what was imminent. He wouldn't wake up screaming anymore, he wouldn't have to worry about forgetting ever again. In an instant he could never worry anymore, he would never have to endure all of this pain and suffering ever again. It would end, it would all end. Justice would be served for everyone else, too - Everyone he had killed, everyone he had affected...

Another tear fell and rolled down his cheek as he took another breath. Tightening his finger, the trigger moved as he pulled it.

 _Blue, red and white flashed before his eyes._

 _A metallic clang as the shield hit his bionic hand._

 _Running alongside a colourful, costumed soldier as they invaded and took down countless Nazi Hydra bases._

 _Looking into the man's eyes on that street as recognition flashed through those blue eyes of his. Horror, shock, disbelief and guilt._

 ** _"Bucky?"_**

 **"Steve..."**

The trigger was only half way pulled, it was not enough to fire the weapon. Lowering it as he looked at his best friend, he then threw the weapon out of anger across the room so that he did not wind up doing anything stupid. It was now that he allowed himself to break down, that he held his head in his hands and cried and cried and cried...

He couldn't do that to Steve. James may not remember everything but he could feel, inside of him, how important the blonde was to him and vice versa.

As he curled up on the mattress, he whimpered to himself as he lay there, feeling pathetic and weak and more lonely than ever before. He was at his most vulnerable point, all of this emotion was raw and genuine and it was pouring out of him. James didn't want to go on, he felt like he couldn't go on and shouldn't because of what he had done, what he had been forced to do. He didn't want to experience those flash backs anymore, he didn't want to remember all of the horrible things. The guilt and sheer self hatred he felt due to all of it was overwhelming to the point where he could barely deal with it.

He would have pulled that trigger if it wasn't for Steve. The man was so desperate to save him, to help him. That fight they had on the helicarrier had proved that, which was why he had pulled him out of the water instead of leaving him to die. What if Steve had found him dead? What would the man do upon finding out he had died due to suicide? It would be genuine this time too, there would be a body and evidence that he was truly dead...

 _"'Cause I'm with you, 'till the end of the line..."_

Those words echoed through his mind as he lay there, broken and in pieces. His eyes were red from crying and his breathing was hitched and shaky. He was now cold as opposed to too hot, his hands numb and tingly.

"I'm sorry, Steve..."


End file.
